


you're asking me to confess

by ilovethisfeeling



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, I'll add more tags later, M/M, Slow Burn, these boys have feelings and opposing ideologies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:37:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovethisfeeling/pseuds/ilovethisfeeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex wishes that Jefferson would let his eyes be opened, would take the messages that Alex yells at him and learn from them. He never does but still, these moments when Jefferson looks like he might be on the verge of a breakthrough count for something. They have too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

It starts, as most things start for Alexander in George Washington’s Politics class. It’s not even that he necessarily means to get into these debates (arguments, fights, yelling matches… at this point they’re all the same thing) but what else is supposed to do when he’s surrounded by these stuck up rich dickheads who don’t realise that just because their parents can afford the ridiculous fees and the designer clothes it doesn’t mean that they’re better than him? It just means that they’re more entitles. It just means that he to prove himself - his worth, his intelligence, his honour - that much more than they do.

He’s fucking sick of it already, and Alex knows that it’s just going to get worse the longer he plays the game.

This time (like the time before that and the time before that) it’s Thomas Jefferson who’s on the receiving end of his lengthy rant about the rising prices of tuition, the need for better social care, the importance of finding a new way of distributing the education budget. Thomas Jefferson is… he’s rich, he’s entitled and he almost stands for everything that Alex hates. His family made their money back during the boom of the 1920s and some they just made their fortunes grow in the following decades, but it's not as though Jefferson is from old money. He acts it though, swanning through campus like he knows all there is to know about the world, talking, whenever the opportunity arises, about his education in France, the people he knows…

What’s worse is the way he talks about their country (no. Not _his_ country, Alexander knows well enough that America is not yet home for him… he hopes that one day it will be). Jefferson has perfected the art of talking prettily - he spins fairy tales out of the nightmare that is the American government - he preaches sweet idealistic nothings that Alexander knows will lead to nothing but chaos and yet people listen. People listen and they buy into Jefferson’s naive fiction. They will never buy into the truths that Alex spits like acid over Jefferson’s lovely but impractical idealism.

Somehow, and he’s not sure when this happened, only that it did, Alex is standing, slamming his hands on the desk in front of him while Washington looks on, a resigned expression flitting across his face. “So what you’re _saying_ is that if we believe in ourselves enough, then we can make it?” He laughs, harsh and cold and disbelieving. “If the kids lost in the system only _applied themselves_ \- if the kids with no money, no prospects, no faith in the government only worked that little bit _harder_ than they would have a shot at this?” He gestures around the lecture room, eyes flitting over a couple of students who are wearing clothes that are so ripped and shredded they must have cost a fortune, over another who is falling asleep. “You think that the reason they’re not here is because they’re lazy? Because they don’t want this bad enough - most of ‘em probably want this chance, this opportunity to rise up more than anyone in this room.”

“Mmhmm?” Jefferson reclines in his chair, the opposite to Alex in every way. Where Alex is fire and rage static, Jefferson seems the picture of calm and sobriety, where Alex can do nothing but raise his voice to make himself heard, Jefferson only needs two softly spoken syllables to express his disagreement. “You’re point? If they wanted to be here, they would be - there are scholarships, there are choices and chances for them. Just because they’re not willing to take them, you think the government should pander to them even more than they have? Throw billions at a system that already caters to their needs? If they want to _rise up_ , as you put it, then maybe they should _work for it_.”

He looks like he’s going to continue but Alex has had enough. Enough of Jefferson’s soft syllables and quiet mocking, enough of the other man’s ability to spin his idealism as rationalism. “—But nah, they can’t because they’re parents are working the minimum wage jobs at your dad’s companies. Jobs that don’t cover health insurance, jobs that barely make ends meet, whilst people like you benefit from their poverty.” And that is the crux of Alex’s issue with Jefferson - if he were simply an idealist, Alex might even find his optimism endearing maybe - his hypocrisy, however, ruins any chance of that happening, though. The man’s willful ignorance to his legacy: his own family’s role in the lives of so much prolonged suffering is inexcusable in Alex’s humble opinion.

“If my family didn’t provide those jobs, where do you think they would all go?” Jefferson questions, and though his quiet drawl is tinged with humour, and there is a small perplexed smirk playing at the man’s lips that suggests he thinks Alex is clutching at straws, there is a tightness around his eyes, a certain kind of anger that lets Alex know that he’s finally hit a nerve. 

Jefferson doesn’t like admitting that he is complicit in and benefits from others' suffering because Jefferson honestly believes that he has it in him to make America a better place. He just doesn’t want to give up his wealth to achieve it.

Alex opens his mouth to respond but the bell rings and Washington, who has been silently watching the exchange with a curious expression stands up and immediately the lecture theatre is buzzing with the sounds of students packing up and chatting. He reminds the class of the essay they have due in on the following Monday, and the test sheets that he wants them to go over in partners though he hasn’t gone so far as to pair the class up for which Alex is grateful for. Grabbing his stuff and jamming it in his backpack (held together by duct tape and Herc’s sewing skills) Alex is heading out the door when he feels a hand on his shoulder, not pulling him back or pushing him forwards, merely anchoring him. He could shrug it off if he wanted, he could just continue walking and the body the hand is attached to would probably follow, but instead his stills himself, knowing that Jefferson will not let him escape. He might let Alex leave, shrug off his hand but he will follow, Alex is sure of it because that’s who Jefferson is: entitled to everything that tickles his curiosity.

“What do you want?” He bites out, anger and indignation at Jefferson’s blindness still coiled tightly in his veins, closing his throat and making it difficult to breathe easy. He turns and eyes the other with distrust, noting the way his broad shoulders are slightly hunched, the downwards turn of his lips, the way he runs an agitated hand through his dark curls. 

Somehow it feels like a victory.

Jefferson doesn’t like criticism, doesn’t like being proven wrong, certainly doesn’t like it when Alex pushes him to see his own privilege for what it is, and yet they always end up like this. Different fights end with the same outcome: Jefferson looking entirely unsure of himself until he finds his friends who all do their best to soothe his worries that his world might not be the perfect picture he paints it as. Alex wishes that Jefferson would let his eyes be opened, would take the messages that Alex yells at him and learn from them. He never does but still, these moments when Jefferson looks like he might be on the verge of a breakthrough count for something. They have too.

The taller man clears his throat and Alex can’t help but watch the nervous stutter of his Adam's apple, the twitch in his long fingers. This is something that he wouldn’t admit, even to himself, but Jefferson is lovely when he starts to question himself when he struggles to find the words he needs to voice his uncertainty. Yeah, Alex quite like him like this.

“You know you’re not supposed to bring up personal shit in debates.” Is what he finally settles on. “It’s… unprofessional, it won’t get you far in the real world.” He pauses and dark eyes flicker to Alex’s. “Anyone else wouldn’t stand for it.” It goes unsaid that Washington seems willing to constantly bend the rules for Alex.

With a shrug that looks far more careless than Alex feels, he lifts Jefferson’s hand off his shoulder and almost regrets it because now they aren’t touching and he feels suddenly untethered. “If you stopped letting your own privilege blind you to reality, I wouldn’t have to.” He says simply and grins, feral and bright when Jefferson scowls. “You gotta realise it. You gotta see that the shit you spout doesn’t help anyone. But you don’t, so I’ll keep doing what I’m doing and you’ll keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll see who comes out on top.” It’s not so much a threat (though Alex doesn’t doubt that Jefferson will take it as such) so much as a statement of fact.

“I gotta go; Laurens and Laf are waiting for me.” He says when Jefferson doesn’t respond for a few seconds and he turns once again to leave and then the hand is back on his shoulder, the grip stronger this time, more sturdy, more steadying and Alex lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “What do you want?” He asks again though this time his voice is quiet, almost calm. 

“The test papers. We need to go over them. Come by Claremont at eight.” Is all Jefferson says, and while Alex doesn’t bother to turn around again, he can hear the surprise in Jefferson’s voice, as though that hadn’t been what he’d been planning on saying at all. He nods his head once, and without another word or backwards glance, he leaves the lecture hall for good, hurrying to find Laurens and Laf and just get away from whatever the hell was happening back there.


	2. 2

Biko’s is a small independent cafe situated on the west side of campus and Alex loves the place more than he would have thought it possible to love a coffee shop. It’s become the central hub for his friends, a place where they can go without having to worry about keeping the noise down or their opinions to themselves. Martha Washington runs it, and she’s intelligent and bright and fierce in her ambition to create a safe space on campus for anyone who needs it. The interior is simple in its design; pale walls, lots of windows and natural light and plenty of tables and armchairs crammed into the small room.

It helps that the Schuyler sisters work there too. He’s seen Angelica kick men and women alike out before whenever someone shoots meaningful glances towards the counter and he’s seen Eliza, without so much as a word, just a reassuring smile, slide hot drinks over to students who look like they’re on the verge of a breakdown because of stress or something else. They both seem to understand implicitly when to take action and when to take a step back. Alexander sometimes envies them for that ability, but he is incapable of keeping his mouth shut - he has to talk, has to push his opinions (which are nearly always right) has to prove his worth. 

Eliza glances up from her spot behind the counter, a smile curving her lips as she sets her book down. “Alex, how are you?” She murmurs, already reaching for a styrofoam cup as he approaches, “You’re usual, yeah?” He nods his thanks and drops the few spare coins he has into the tip jar, before leaning forward on the counter, dark eyes watching the woman at work as she flicks dials and buttons on the coffee machine. “What’s on your mind?” She asks, without turning to look at him and Alex wonders how she always knows when something is bothering him, and knows when to push and when to let him stew in his own thoughts. 

“Jefferson and I got into another debate again,” He says at last though it sounds off even to him. It wasn't so much of a debate as Jefferson letting him rant and rave for twenty minutes, interjecting only when Alex seemed to be running out of steam. It was as if Jefferson had been finding new ways to keep him talking. “I just… I don’t know why I even bother with him.” He says at last, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against the aged wood of the counter. Eliza hums her agreement, before placing his coffee (black with six sugars) in front of him. “He’ll never learn. Never open his fucking eyes and see what’s happening outside his ivory tower.”

She raises an eyebrow, and Alex thinks she looks vaguely sceptical. He’s proven right when she sighs and says gently because everything Eliza fucking does is gentle and he loves and distrusts that about her in equal measure, “No one is incapable of learning. You’ve got to believe that, Alex.” He snorts and glances away, looking out the window for several seconds as Eliza sighs and goes back to her perch. “Laf and Laurens are out back. They were talking about some sort of protest when they came in.” She chuckles softly, “They seemed very excited.”

Immediately, Alex feels his spirits lift, the protest in question is about the university’s decision to host a far-right speaker for one of their public lectures. The man in question in is George Hanover, an intellectual from England who somehow made his name in America as the next big thing. He preaches to the masses about the necessity of heavy taxation, the disbandment of social care and the elevated statuses of white supremacy and men empowerment. Alex hates him with an enduring passion. Dimly, he thinks that Jefferson probably buys into an awful lot of what he has to say; his mate (or at least, he thinks they’re mates) William Seabury certainly does. 

Leaning over the counter, he pecks Eliza on the cheek before heading towards the back room that has become the unofficial meeting place for his friends and Washington to plot and plan their course of action. The back room is decorated differently to the rest of the cafe - there are still armchairs but they’re placed around a large table that is often littered with leaflets and pamphlets. Angelica and Aaron have pasted posters of famous women and abolitionists on the walls, Washington has a stack of papers that needs grading in the corner and Laf and Hercules have created a space by the single window that doubles as Herc’s workshop. 

It feels like _home_.

“Yo, what’s going on?” He calls as he enters and John grins from where he’s lounging against the table, motioning Alex to join him and Lafayette. The paper they’re studying is a map of the campus, Laf has inked in certain roads and crossed out sections in black marker. It’s a plan of attack and Alex feels his chest tighten in anticipation for the fight that will inevitably happen. 

Laf points at the auditorium, eyes alight with the same fire that burns in Alex’s veins. “Bonjour, mon ami, Washington says we must act carefully. Hanover is expecting some sort of protest so I think if we —” he breaks off, running a finger down the main road which is inked in red “— do not use this road… too easy for students to become gated in, you see? We should instead take the back way to the auditorium. It’s open, which means we could disperse easily if needed.” John is humming his agreement, and Alex wonders how he got so lucky to find these two brilliant minds. 

“Hercules says that he could offer protection,” John adds with a grin that is just the wrong side of friendly. They all know what Hercules means when he says protection. “Nothing violent, _of course_.” He adds with a snicker. 

“And Washington’s okay with that?” Alex asks after a pause. He knows that Washington wants this to happen - it had been the man’s idea to gather them together in the first place. He had led them from the beginning and he would lead them right to the end, Alex has no doubt, but Washington is only one man standing tall against a swarm of apologists and bureaucrats who care more about their bank balance than they do about the safety of their students. “He’s still only letting me write under a pseudonym. For my _safety_.” The words leave his mouth bitter and acrid because Washington doesn’t realise that Alex is _ready_ for this. He can deal with the backlash; he can deal with a fight. It’s nothing new - it’s what he’s always fucking done.

John and Laf exchange knowing glances and he rolls his eyes, slumping into a chair. “Alex, Washington wants this to happen. He knows that this might come to violence - he knows that Hanover probably wants it to come to violence.” The disdain in John’s voice is undisguised but his eyes are kind. He reaches out and places a hand on Alex’s should in what is meant to be a comforting gesture but suddenly all Alex can think of is Jefferson gripping his shoulder, the uncertain tremor in his fingers, the way his breath had hitched and knot in Alex’s own stomach as he wondered why the hell Jefferson even cared. 

John took his hand back and the moment passed, leaving Alex staring at the map, a small frown etched on his forehead. “No one is backing away from the fight. Washington just wants us safe for it. You can’t blame him for that.” Laf is talking quietly, but his voice is sure and steady and Alex finds his nerves calmed.

They stay there, planning for the future and Aaron and Herc join them at some point. Aaron wants to make sure that Lafayette’s route allows for safe spaces - cafes and dorms that will open their doors to the protesters for when (because it’s not a case of if, Alex is sure of that) things get too violent for some of them. He has a list of addresses and phone numbers and Alexander listens with grudging respect as Aaron skilfully sweet talks most of them into agreeing to his demands.

At seven thirty, however, he makes his excuses, ignores the curious glances and John’s questioning about where he’s headed. He’s been able to put Jefferson out of his head for the most part, but now that he's on his own and actually outside Jefferson’s accommodation, it all comes rushing back. What was Jefferson even playing at? It was clear - had been clear since the start of the semester - that he wouldn’t change. Anything Alex said to make him see was flushed out of his head the second he was around his trust-fund friends. 

With a groan, he rubbed a hand over his face, scowling as he buzzed on the intercom. There were a few seconds of silence before a voice - not Jefferson’s thank God - crackled through the line. “That Alex? Yeah, come up, man. Thomas said something about you working together.” James Madison was perhaps the only one of Jefferson’s friends (asides from Aaron, but Alex still wasn’t sure how Aaron fitted into Jefferson’s circle) that Alex had any time for. They’d worked together once or twice and he knew that James was responsible for the anonymous pamphlets that kept appearing at the start of every month denouncing many of the corrupt lecturers and heads of staff. 

Their shared accommodation is way nicer than Alex’s dorm. It’s spacious for a campus apartment and Alex can appreciate the fact that books spill from the shelves and form messy piles on the coffee table and besides the sofa, Alex can even see a couple of books resting against the coffee machine. Jefferson is sprawled across the sofa, the test papers from class lying on the ground beside him, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a book on botany resting on his drawn up knees. Like this, Jefferson doesn’t look like he’d be such a prick, he looks like the kind of person that Alex would probably get along with. But looks can be deceiving, a fact that he knows all too well.

James is already heading back into his room and Alex wishes that he’d stay because he has no idea how to broach this situation. Jefferson hasn’t even acknowledge his fucking presence and Alex feels suddenly unsure of himself like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff and there’s a strong wind. He’s in Jefferson’s territory and he entertains the idea that Jefferson has done this on purpose, to somehow get back at Alex for Washington’s lectures. Eventually, he can stand the silence no more and clears his throat. “I didn’t think you could have managed to fit any more books in here, but apparently I was mistaken.” It’s a neutral topic, not one that should spark an argument. 

He just wants to get this over with.

Jefferson glances up, and then around the room as though he hadn’t realised that books were slowly but surely crowding the space and making it difficult to navigate the area. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here. James and I are quick readers.” He says simply, slotting a bookmark into the pages and shutting the text book. The silence overtakes them and despite the fact that Jefferson’s posture is relaxed, confident even, Alex can tell from the way he keeps glancing at the front door and the nervous stutter of his fingers that he’s just as uncertain about this as Alexander is.

He’s fairly sure he shouldn’t feel as pleased about that as he does.

“Take a seat. I’m gonna go get a soda or something, you want one?” The man asks at last, pushing himself up in one elegant motion and Alex can’t help but admire the almost cat-like way that Jefferson has as he manoeuvres himself throughout the labyrinth of books. He’s also wearing a tired pair of sweats and…

“Is that a _Pussy Riot crop top_?” Alexander asks before he can stop himself, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. Never in his life would he have pegged Jefferson for the type to like Pussy Riot. Or crop tops for that matter. “And yeah, soda would be good.” He adds as an afterthought.

Jefferson glances down, and Alex catches the slow flush that spreads up his neck. It seems that Jefferson had forgotten that he had a _reputation_ to live up to. “Angelica got it for me.” He says, voice reticent but not embarrassed; Jefferson is quieter when he’s not in public it seems. Alex vaguely remembers that from when he’d been working with James - he’d been expecting fights and snark from Jefferson but instead the man had curled up quietly on the sofa and worked on essays or read Alex doesn’t remember actually sharing a single word with him in the month that he and James had met up. Though he doesn’t utter a word about the fact that it’s a t-shirt supporting a Russian feminist punk girl band, which was the part that Alex had been most surprised by. Though it makes sense that Angelica had bought it, even if he’d not realised that Angelica and Jefferson were on gift-giving terms.

He sits on the edge of the sofa, fingers tapping agitatedly against his knees before he reaches down and flicks through the tests, quickly picking out key terms and phrases, ideas already formulating in his mind. It appears that Jefferson has his own thoughts too - there’s a scrawled _'lol’_ next to a question about the dangers immigration that makes Alex’s chest constrict with anger before his eyes slide to the next annotation - a series of exclamation marks highlighting the importance of freedom of religious expression. “What did you mean with these?” He demands as soon as Jefferson sits down, grabbing the can of coke that he holds out a touch rougher than he intends, causing it to spill over his hand. 

Jefferson rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. He, like Alex, seems to have come to the realisation that it’s better if they just get straight down to business and avoid small talk altogether. Alex is thankful for that. 

He honestly is.

“Just that this nation was built by immigrants.” He pauses and sighs, long and slow and Alex refuses to look at him and try to understand what’s racing through his mind. “I fail to see how they can turn around and call us dangerous now.” His use of the word ‘us’ does not escape Alex’s attention. He wonders if Jefferson realises he’s used it - if he considers himself an outsider when he is living proof that the elusive American Dream does come true for a select few. “And well, the other one is obvious, I would have thought. Freedom of expression, freedom of speech… It’s vital.” Alex feels rather than sees Jefferson’s shrug and something inside his stomach twitches. He doesn’t like to be reminded that Jefferson seems to genuinely believe in his ideals. If he doesn’t then he is one hell of an actor.

“I’m surprised. Would’ve thought you’d be all for keeping America pure or whatever.” He mutters and immediately regrets it when Jefferson stiffens beside him. He never thinks before he speaks is the problem, and Jefferson always thinks too much. They’re vicious and snide and altogether cruel to each other when they want to be, but never has Alex crossed that line before. Never has he even considered it. He’s not sure why he did now. 

“ _Pure_?” The man besides him repeats, voice pitched low and dangerously cold. Alex shivers. It’s all he needs to say on the matter; Alex is already wishing that the couch would swallow him whole and for once, Jefferson seems to realise this; he doesn’t push the matter. “I’m not in the mood for an argument but, talk to me like that again and I swear to god I will ruin you and any chances you have around here.” Alexander nods once, clears his throat and turns in his seat to face Jefferson, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, and despite his embarrassment, he looks Jefferson in the eye, meeting his gaze unfaltering until Jefferson seems satisfied with whatever he’s found. 

“I want to do the question on education.” And at this, Alexander rolls his eyes. Of course, Jefferson would want to do the question that they obviously disagree on. Of course, Jefferson would want to make life difficult. He says as much, words falling out of his mouth with a groan and he expects Jefferson to scowl and bite out another snide comment. Instead, he laughs, loud and surprised, as though he’d been taken just as unawares by his laughter as Alexander had. “That’s why I think we should do it. Washington wants us in pairs for a reason, differing opinions.”

The rest of the evening passes relatively smoothly - they almost begin fighting once, but Jefferson seems serious about not wanting to argue tonight. In his own home and away from the crowds, he’s different. Alex notices the way that his fingers don’t curl in on themselves like they do in lectures when he’s trying not to fidget, the natural curve of his back and the way he laughs more freely, the way he’s less likely to take offence. He doesn’t comment on it, though; if he can help it, he doesn’t want Jefferson to be made aware of his positive traits.

“We should research independently and meet up again to discuss what we’ve found,” Jefferson says, at last, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawns. “Thursday sound good?”

“No. I’ve got a meeting about the…” He trails off, frowning. Usually, he wouldn’t hesitate to talk about the protest they’re arranging, but Jefferson is Jefferson and Alex doesn’t trust him one iota. Next to him, Jefferson raises and eyebrow and his trademark smirk slides across his lips. “Umm, the protest about George Hanover’s lecture.” He finishes uncertainly, because there is no way that this could end well. 

And he’s right because Jefferson’s eyes flash with something indecipherable and then his expression shutters. “Mmhmm… have fun with _that_.” He murmurs at last, mocking and snide. 

Indignation curls around Alexander’s throat and before he can help himself, he’s shooting back, “So you agree with the bullshit that Hanover’s spewing? What happened to _‘this nation was built on immigrants’_?” He mimics Jefferson, exaggerating the other’s Southern drawl and finding that he likes the way it mixes with his Creole accent. “You talk about equality, about _freedom_ , but you’re happy to let _him_ come here and spread his propaganda?” The anger inside him that has calmed throughout the evening unfurls itself inside his lungs, spitting fire into words and Alex lets himself _burn_. 

He stands up abruptly, turning to face Jefferson, who has slouched back against the couch, almost regal in his coolness. “I dislike Hanover as much the next person—” Alex snorts, “— You think I’m happy to let him in here? You think I’ve been idle about this?” He sneers, eyes flicking over Alex like he’s an angry puppy. 

“Haven’t you?” 

“You’ll see. Just because I’m not gearing for a fight - just because I value my safety, my position here doesn’t mean I’ve been idle.” It’s all he has to say on the matter apparently, because the next thing Alex knows, Jefferson is standing, wrapping a hand around his arm, and oh _god_ , Alex is _burning_ , “Let me know when you’re free. Perhaps read the paper next week. Paine has an article which will be worth a read.” 

And then he’s picking up his botany book and is heading for his room. “Goodnight.”

The anger flashes hot in his chest and his arm feels cold from where Jefferson had touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long, and I'm sorry for that but the next ones should be shorter! (Hopefully, I get carried away way too easily it seems)


	3. 3

The next few days are hectic, to say the least - Washington has them organising smaller events at the Students’ Union, handing out flyers and trying to rally interest in their cause if not the protest which Washington wants to keep quiet about until they have the details sorted out. Aaron hadn’t expected much to come of it - he’d said as much to Alex and then rolled his eyes and shoved a muffin in his direction when Alex had started arguing back. “It was just a worry - not a slight on your darling professor,” Aaron had said, somehow managing to sound weary, comforting and snide all at once. Still, he’d been proven wrong, much to Alex’s happiness, when their flyers and pamphlets and talks had started gaining attention, whispers about the protest flew around the campus as if carried by the early autumn breeze, turning into outrage and apathy in equal proportions. 

This was something that Alexander had never quite understood. The apathy that students seemed to feel towards anything political - not all of them, but enough that he could sense their doubt and despair over the promise of revolution. They didn’t want to fight, even if they disliked George, even if they ardently opposed his ideals and beliefs, they didn’t want to fight. 

Eliza had shrugged a shoulder when he’d voiced his frustration the previous evening and had simply said, “Some people are more scared about how this will affect them than you are, Alex. That’s not a criticism, but you’re asking a lot from teenagers. They’re scared they might get hurt that they might be expelled,” She’d paused, biting her lower lip as she tried to figure out how to word her next thought delicately, “They’re worried about what their families might think.”

Oh.

“Never thought of that one,” He’d admitted, frowning down at his fidgeting hands. The more he watched, the less connected they felt to his body, as though he was watching someone else twiddle their thumbs and tap agitatedly on the wooden counter. “Still, you gotta stand for something. You just gotta.”

With a sigh, Alex pushes the memory out of his mind, and instead turns his attention to the lunch hall, taking in the sounds of laughter and general chaos of the students around him. It’s strange that everyone seems so carefree all of the time - he’s always felt like there’s a burden on his shoulders, an invisible force that pushes him to work harder, to be better, to be _more_. He had to work to get here; he had to work so fucking hard to become who he is and heinous that the work doesn’t stop. He knows deep down with a sort of resigned burn that he will never do enough to secure the future that he wants, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He can’t stop. Not now that he has Washington’s belief in him, or his friends’ hope rallying him on. 

_He can’t stop._

He’s pushing his food around his plate when Angelica throws herself down on the bench opposite him, salad in one hand, paper in the other. “Have you read this?” She asks, lips quirking in a grin, expectant and honest. Her eyes are alight with bright anticipation. She pushes the paper towards him, and his eyes slide over the front page with mild interest until he spots the author’s name: _Thomas Paine_. 

He’s an English post-grad student who Alex knows by name and status alone. He’d like to get to know him better but Paine doesn’t run in his circle - keeps mostly to the literature students but he’s got political leanings and insights that Alex can get behind. The article in question is titled Common Sense, and Alex’s lips form a grin not dissimilar to Angelica’s own. It’s well written and calls for action, rallying a response yet the way Paine’s phrased his arguments, worded his article is subversive. He writes as though the students have already made up their mind, he writes as though resistance to the university is obvious and happening already. 

Alex might be a little bit in love with this article and he can tell without looking up that Angelica is too. “You already have a copy of this on your wall, don’t you?” He asks, finally looking up. She laughs unabashedly and shrugs a shoulder.

“Well, you’re _more_ than welcome to come and see for yourself,” She says with a wink and a wicked chuckle. They fall back into a pattern of mindless flirting for a good few minutes, throwing wit and innuendo back and forth like they always have. It doesn’t mean anything to Alex, who despite what other’s say, has always seen Angelica as a friend. An intellectual equal and a genuinely brilliant person, but never in _that_ way. He’s fairly sure she feels the same way, but if she doesn’t… Well, Alex isn’t going to delve deeper into the matter and Angelica doesn’t seem likely to either.

Suddenly, without warning, Jefferson’s words flash through his mind and Alex looks up sharply, scanning the room for the Virginian though he isn’t sure that he wants to find him. “Wait — Jefferson said something about Paine writing this. He told me to look out for it.” He isn’t sure why that matters, or why he feels the need to say anything to the woman sitting in front on him, and judging from her raised eyebrows, Angelica isn’t entirely sure where this is leading either. “I… do you know how he knew about this?” He asks, at last, hating the fact that he’s asking after _Thomas Jefferson_ of all people. 

Angelica frowns, studying him with undisguised interest and curiosity in a way that makes Alex’s skin heat up, self-consciousness pinpricking his skin. “He and Paine run in the same circles,” She says at last. “I think Thomas said something about them writing articles together a few weeks ago. This is probably what he meant.”

“No. Jefferson would never write an article and not take full credit. There’s no way he’d agree to be an anonymous contributor.” This, he is sure of as sure of as he is of anything. Thomas Jefferson is one of the most self-indulgent people that Alex knows - he wants recognition and glory and there’s no way that he’d allow someone to take credit for something that he was part of. Fuck it, he’d probably demand that his name when first on the authorship line.

“Well then, he might have written his own article. I don’t know, Alex - he didn’t say much about it.” She says, exasperation and confusion clear in her voice. “Why do you care? And since when have you and _Thomas_ had a conversation that didn’t end with one of you getting punched?” 

He doesn’t respond immediately, not trusting himself to speak because everything that Jefferson does and says somehow manages to throw him off. This article, as good as it is happened in part because Jefferson was part of it, whether it was just a passing conversation he’d had with Paine or because he’d encouraged him to write it… Alex imagines Jefferson and Paine in Jefferson’s apartment, hunched over laptops as they work on artfully worded essays and articles calling for action together… 

He shuts that thought down as quickly as it came, determined to push thoughts of the man out of his head. Except he _can’t_ , not entirely at least and now Jefferson is buzzing at the back of his mind and Alex can feel the way he reached out and held him on his skin and the alternating looks of mocking contempt for Alex’s rants and confused annoyance that sometimes crept onto his face when he realises that Alex _right_ are crystal clear in his mind’s eye. He almost feels like he’s drowning, except he isn’t because he knows what drowning feels like, and his opinion this is somehow _worse_.

Distantly, he hears Angelica sigh, and he has to drag himself back into the present, shooting her an apologetic smile while she counters with a roll of her eyes. “It’s an excellent article though, isn’t it?” She ventures at last, having decided apparently that all talk of Thomas Jefferson should be avoided for the time being. Not for the first time, Alex wonders what he did to deserve a girl like her in his life. 

Fifteen minutes later, Angelica is off to start her shift at Biko’s and Alex is tapping away on his laptop in the student commons, writing an essay for his Philosophy and Debate class. It’s already three pages over the limit (a limit that he’d learnt had only been enforced since he’d started taking the class - a fact that makes him prouder than it probably should) when he senses rather than sees a person slide in the seat diagonally opposite him. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge their presence, too busy trying to figure out how he could possibly word: _in conclusion, Andrew Jackson can suck a bag of dicks_ politely. He honestly doesn’t think it can be done, which is annoying because he’ll definitely get marked down for it. 

“So you liked the article, then?” Jefferson’s voice startles him and Alex snaps his head up, blinking in confusion though of course, _of fucking course_ it was Jefferson who’d sat down at his table. Alex has never been possessive of his work areas before, but now he feels like snapping at the man to go away and find his own place to study. He’s still too on edge regarding Jefferson and the fact that apparently he had formed some part of Paine’s political insights and isn’t that just fucking _dandy_? 

“Can’t you work somewhere else?” He grits out, avoiding eye contact because he’s aware he’s being childish but it won’t stop him. Jefferson smirks, and slouches further back in his chair, long legs kicking out in front of him and Alex thinks dimly that he looks like a rather lazy lion. With an elegant flick of his wrist, he gestures around the room and sure enough, everywhere is full meaning that Alex has no escape or respite from this man.

The paper Angelica had given him is still open, only now it has highlighter marks and scribbles down the edges full of his thoughts and comments. He watches as Jefferson, slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid that Alex might attack him if he makes any sudden movements, reaches over and pulls the paper towards him. He reads Alexander’s notations slowly, with deliberation and Alex feels suddenly exposed. He’s used to people reading his thoughts and ideas - he revels in it, even, but this is different. He hasn’t had time to compose his ideas fully anti feels like Jefferson is almost inside of his head. It’s too close, too personal, too _much_.

He bites down on the instinct to make some arrogant comment to try and throw the other man off because he already knows that Jefferson is well aware that it's a defence mechanism - he’s pointed it out numerous times in their Politics class. Eventually, Jefferson slides the paper back towards him and regards him with a careful interest, though Alex can detect the inklings of surprise in his eyes as well. “You have some good ideas there,” he says at last, running a large hand though his curls before adding with a small smirk, “Pity you never use them in Debate, though.”

It takes a second for Alex to realise that he’s joking, _teasing_ and when the realisation hits, he can’t help the surprised huff of laughter that falls out of his lips unbidden. Jefferson looks pleased, if a little surprised by his reaction ( _good_ , he thinks somewhat wildly, _now you know how I feel all the goddamn time_ ) for all of a split second before he’s schooling his expression into something a less open and friendly. Alex is almost thankful for that.

Almost.

He huffs good-naturedly (or as good-naturedly as he can when Jefferson’s involved) and quips back, “Well, I can’t help it if my good ideas are a little above your level.” It’s strange, because despite the joking nature of their conversation and the fact that to anyone who didn’t know them they would look like friends (and isn’t that a funny thought?) Alex still feels like he needs to have his guard up. People don’t change easily, especially people like Jefferson who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

“Anyways, we need to work on that question for Politics - you’re busy with your... _whatever_ it is you’re planning, but I’m not letting my grades drop because of it.” Jefferson says last, and Alex rankles at the way he manages to sound amused, disparaging and almost encouraging of Washington’s protest. At least, his worries are confirmed: Jefferson isn’t going to change. Which just makes it all the more frustrating that Alex knows he won’t stop trying to make Jefferson _see_.

With a sigh, Alex nods and pushes his laptop aside, that Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson will have to wait. “What were you thinking of then? Free education for the masses and we pay for that by what? Selling shit that we can’t produce at a high enough rate to countries that don’t want what we have to sell?” He asks, raising an eyebrow because honestly, Thomas’ idea of a sustainable economic plan is about as realistic as John Adams: Resident Dickhead managing to pull his head out of his ass. 

Jefferson kicks backs off his chair, feet hitting the ground with a soft thump and he’s leaning over the table, into Alex’s space, and oh god, he’s so close. Closer than Alex wants him to be but he grits his teeth and stares the taller man down, gaze steady because if this is an intimidation tactic like fuck is he going to let it work. “Why do you hate the fact that I have hope for the future? What because I don’t want to resign our future to the banks and wall street? Run our poorest workers into the ground just to fill our own pockets?” He looks so serious and Alex laughs for the second time in fifteen minutes because of something that Thomas Jefferson has said. 

“Jesus, you genuinely don’t see it do you?” He asks, incredulous and amazed. “Why everyone says you're a genius I will never fucking know,” Jefferson frowns, his ego hurt but Alex ploughs on regardless, “Your entire family makes it living off of _‘our poorest workers’_ \- your fucking three hundred dollar jacket is paid for by their poverty. You think I’m the awful one here because I, at least, know that if we’re gonna help these people, then we need to reform the system - not tear it a-fucking-part.” In his passion, Alex has pushed himself up and forward, pressing his palms flat on the table and he’s glaring down at Jefferson, quite liking the fact that for once, the other man has to look up at him. It’s almost a shock to watch as Thomas tilts his head back, eyes meeting his and Alex can’t help but notice the uncertainty that’s practically shining in them. 

He fucking revels in it.

The silence stretches between them, and they still haven’t broken eye contact. It’s too much. It’s not enough and Alex can feel his skin pricking with something that he can’t quite put a name to. His breath comes out in short, sharp huffs and his eyes trail to Thomas’ throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows sharply. It’s fucking beautiful watching Thomas nervous he realises with dissociated clarity. Not many people can say that they can make the unflappable Thomas Jefferson stop and _think_ for just a moment. 

Eventually, Jefferson finds his words, though he doesn’t stop looking up at Alex when he speaks and isn’t that interesting? “I would have thought, that you of all people, coming from where you do, would realise that Wall Street is unstoppable. You can’t fucking reform it - it’s like fighting a hydra. You wanna make a difference, create a world where people who work hard are rewarded for that work? Then you have to destroy the root of the problem. You should know that better than anyone here.”

“How can you not see that you’re inherently privileged? You’ve got a massive head start on everyone else because of you family. You’ll have jobs and wealth and prospects handed to you on a silver platter because of that.” Alex snaps back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Arguing with Jefferson is like arguing with a brick wall. Impossible and absolutely not worth it. And yet he does it anyway.

Jefferson in return grins, cold and appraising and the effect would be somewhat terrifying if Alex were the type to scare easily. “In case it’s escaped your attention, I’m black.” He drawls, eyes widening comically, as he waves a hand (elegant and refined just like everything else about him). “I have to work twice as hard as half the people here because when people look at me, they don’t fucking see a _’genius’_ , do they? If I can work get here if I can do it then so can everyone else, _if we change the way the economy works._ ”

And… _right_. Alex sighs, slumping back in his chair, his anger deflated somewhat because despite being an immigrant, despite knowing what people whisper behind his back, knowing how those with power view him when he’s wearing a hoody, he’s never really thought about Jefferson in that way. It never crossed his mind that people would look at Jefferson the same way, and he hates that. Also hates that maybe he can see where the other man is coming from, even if his ideology is about as fucked as it can get. He pauses, lets his anger wash through him and drain away before he begins to talk again, “Investment in social capital, though. We can make a difference to those living on the bottom line through compassionate capitalism. It’s not a question of destroying Wall Street; it’s a question of using the profits and the excess they raise to make long-lasting reforms - reforms to education. Free college tuition or at the very least, deprivatized college, loans that people can pay back… Schools that give students an equal chance.”

“And you think that can happen when Wall Street is running wild?”

He can hear the scepticism in Jefferson’s voice, but at least, they don’t seem to be fighting anymore. With absolute certainty and conviction, Alex nods his head, “ _Yes._ ” Jefferson responds with a small _hmm_ that’s not altogether a dismissal which is more than Alexander has got from him in a while.

The next silence that follows is calmer than the previous one, it’s almost friendly though Alex can still feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface. By this point, though, when is there not tension between them? It’s the only constant in his relationship with Jefferson. He glances at the man, but his eyes are closed, head tilted back. His hands which are usually playing with something, an unconscious tick (maybe it’s nerves, Alex wonders idly, maybe anxiety?) are still. He opens his laptop and begins to type his conclusion to his Jackson essay, and it’s only when he’s finished and is packing up that he looks back over at Jefferson.

He’s in the same position, fingers splayed against the table, head tilted back to reveal the long column of neck and throat. Like this, he looks oddly peaceful. “Err, you still awake?” Alex asks, feeling slightly awkward as he shuffles from one foot to the other. Jefferson cracks an eye open and shrugs a shoulder. 

“Trying to figure something out.” Is all he says, eyes closing again. Seconds pass and Alex is still unsure of what to do. “You can go.” It’s a dismissal, and while it’s not an unkind one - there is is no condescension or malice in Jefferson’s tone, his cheeks still heat up as he makes his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna talk to me about Hamilton (please do, I have no one to talk to irl omg) then my tumblr is http://raiseaglassson.tumblr.com/ hit me upppp


	4. 4

Laf is lounging on his bed, legs kicked up against the headboard, eyes closed, nodding his head lazily to the French techno that’s playing softly from his laptop. His dorm room is a mess of French and American memorabilia - Alex sort of loves it. It’s messy and bright and screams Laf and all his chaotic cheerfulness. Alex throws his rucksack on the ground by the man’s bed and curls up on the end of the bed, carding his hand absentmindedly through the other man’s curls. 

“Bonjour,” Laf murmurs, his voice slightly rough from lack of sleep, but he smiles contentedly at Alex’s careful ministrations and shuffles a little further back so that his head is resting on Alex’s lap. “How was your day?” Alex shrugs a shoulder and hums a noncommittal answer. In truth, not much has happened, other than a lunch date with Eliza which he doesn’t really want to talk about because he’s not sure what it means yet.

Still, Laf is looking up at him with sharp curiosity and Alex forgets that Lafayette is one of the most observant people he knows. It would be frustrating except it proves useful more often than not. He just wishes that Laf wouldn’t always pick up on the fact that Alex more often than not masks his more complex thoughts with the slow-burning anger that is never far from the surface. With a small sigh, he begins to tell Laf about Washington’s class instead, recalling the events with no small amount of annoyance. 

“Got into another fight during Washington’s Politics lecture again, didn’t I?” There’s amusement there too, because his arguments are the stuff of legend with his friends. They’re stories that they retell when drinking, anecdotes they use to rally enthusiasm during their private meetings in Biko’s, Martha Washington has laughed herself hoarse over her husband’s weariness and suffering more than once. Laf quirks a grin, his interest piqued and he motions with a lazy hand for Alex to continue.

“You should be proud though - it wasn’t Jefferson this time.” He knows that the Frenchman and Jefferson get on, they’re friends which Alex finds strangely disturbing. The two met whilst Jefferson was studying in France, and really he has Jefferson to thank that he even met Laf in the first place. Introducing them is probably the only good thing Jefferson has done, he thinks bitterly. “Nah, it was Seabury - you know, that weird kid who thinks Hanover is the best thing in the world.” Laf snorts derisively, and Alex’s eyes widen in an _‘I know right?’_ fashion. 

“Ugh, we were talking about the nature of democracy, like true democracy versus what we’ve got. And _god_ , this dude, right? Like, literally, out of _nowhere_ starts going on about how the people don’t know how lucky we have it? Like, the government panders to us all to much and if politicians knew what was good for the country they would like… I don’t even know, just ignore votes or whatever? Like… He legit said that the President could never hope to control the country when he’s afraid of congress.” At this, Alex laughs at the sheer idiocy of the statement. “Does he even know how the US government works? Like, he was basically calling for a dictatorship.” The thought is something that truly terrifies Alex, the thought of regressing back into a state of ownership, back into the hands of England and yeah, it was a long time ago - over two hundred years - but just the thought that there are people out there who genuinely believe that America might be a better country if they moved back rather than forward sends shivers of anger and fear down Alex’s spine.

Laf makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and wrinkles form of his forehead that Alex smoothes out with his thumb. “I’m sure that Thomas had something to say about that,” he murmurs after a pause, and that… that throws Alex somewhat. He remembers the indignation and slowly burning disappointment that he hadn’t been sure why he even felt because he knew that Jefferson wasn’t any better than to pander to Seabird and all his money when he’d seen Jefferson and Seabird walk out together. He supposed that he had hoped that Jefferson was better than that though.

Hope is useless. It only ever leads to disappointment.

Instead of replying, he just shrugs a shoulder and goes back to petting Laf’s hair in a way that makes Laf purr in the back of his throat. “Adrienne does this - it’s very relaxing,” the other man comments sounding pleased and forlorn in equal measures. Alex’s hear goes to him because he knows that Laf misses his girlfriend dearly. The Frenchman doesn’t show it, even in the middle of a fight (and Lafayette has been in many) he is all smiles and beautiful optimism but it’s the quiet moments that Alex can see the loss and want written clearly in the man’s eyes. 

“What’s she like?” He asks, his voice curious but soft in a way it isn’t usually. 

Laf is silent for a few moments and Alex is half convinced that he won’t reply. His eyes are closed, mouth upturned in a soft smile that is entirely for Adrienne and no one else. Alex doesn’t stop running his fingers through his hair. “She’s… very bold. I never really knew my place at home - I love it dearly, of course, but I was never part of the fold. I didn’t fit in with the finery and the… ahh, what’s the word? … I wasn’t refined enough for them. She was - is - but she operates at her own level. She punched a man who was laughing at me once. I think that’s when I truly fell in love with her, you know.” At this, Alex laughs because it so like Laf to fall in love with someone for their displays of justified anger. He can imagine her clearly, though he’s only seen photos of her smiling on Laf’s instagram. He can imagine the carefree elegance turned vicious, the indents that her rings surely left on the man, the smear of blood that she would wipe on away with simple refinement. 

He’s about the say that he would very much like to meet her when Laf opens his eyes and smiles in a way that is not altogether kind. “She’s very unlike Eliza.” And _oh_. So he knows about his date then. Alex wonders if Laf will be kind and let it slide, though he already knows that he won’t be. “Thomas told me about you lunch with her.” He adds in what is clearly an invitation to expand. 

Something in Alexander’s throat constricts slightly and he blinks slowly, emotions that he doesn’t care to analyse winding like vines around his bones. “And how does Jefferson - _Thomas_ , sorry - know about that?” He asks, and is thankful that for once his tone is controlled and calm in way it rarely is when he talks about Thomas.

“Eliza told Angelica, Angelica told Thomas, Thomas told me. Surely you didn’t think this would be a secret? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have _wanted_ it to be a secret.” Laf says contemplatively, like he’s putting together puzzle pieces that Alex wasn’t even aware existed.

The thing is, Eliza is kind and forgiving and so painfully sweet that Alex feels like he’s leading her on, simply because he isn’t. He likes her. He does, but it is never that simple because a small part of him is aware of the fact that her purity and her kindness might simply not be enough. He yearns for a fight. He always has, and the thought of _contentment_ )because that is surely what Eliza is searching for what with her soft grace and quiet worry for the future, for the protest for everything that Alex and his friends are actively seeking out) is unsettling to say the least. He doesn’t know if he actually wants to be content, because that means… it means that he’d be finished, he’d have to slow down, to stop and he doesn’t think he’s capable of that.

He likes her but he knows that that is not enough. He is selfish enough to ignore this fact because Eliza is good and soft and all that he realises that he should want.

The silence presses on and Alex is still staring off into space, his hand still in the man’s hair. Eventually he says, “She’s very kind. She is… everything I should want.” It’s a non-answer and he knows immediately that Laf has picked up on his choice of words by the way the man rolls away from and into a sitting position, turning his knowing eyes on Alex. “I just… don’t know if I what I should want and what I actually want are the same thing… She’s so _soft_ that I… I don’t know.”

“There’s a certain kind of strength in being soft, Alex.” He nods, because he _knows_ that. He’s aware that for all her kindness, Eliza is a pillar of strength and fortitude. It somehow makes it worse. “But I understand, I suppose. You need someone who would never let you have an easy life. Someone who would… stoke the fire, as it were.” Laf sounds both amused and oddly reflecting. 

He’s right of course, but Alex still doesn’t appreciate the matter-of-fact way that the man delivers his observations, he likes to think he’s not quite as transparent as that. Having it all laid bare, and in such frank terms, it’s difficult to ignore the fact though. What makes it even more complicated is that he can’t deny the fact that he’d quite like someone. Not even for the sex - he’s fairly reliable with the fairer sex (and the less fair sex in all honesty) and he’s had his fair share. It’s just that… he finds himself missing (which is impossible because he has never really had a relationship before, not a long term one at least) the closeness and intimacy that comes with a partner. He wants a person to come back to, someone who would push him and make him burn brighter and someone who hopefully he could help shine in return.

Distantly, he thinks that Eliza already shines bright enough.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I don’t make these things easy for myself, do I?” He asks, a rueful smile stretching his lips as regards the other man. 

Laf laughs and shakes his head, “ _Non_. And that is why we love you, mon petit lion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! (and the lack of jefferson, he'll be back soon) but I wanted to explore Alex's other relationships. As always comments/critique is lovely and if you wanna talk to me about Hamilton (or this fic, headcannons are my fave) my tumblr is http://raiseaglassson.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later and Alex is in the canteen with John, who is looking incredibly annoyed about… well, something though that’s not really a surprise because John is as quick to anger as he is to smile and that’s one of the things that Alex loves about him. He’s passionate about causes in a way not many people are. In fact, out of all of their friends (and fellow crusaders) John is probably the one who has the most pure intentions, Alex thinks offhandedly as he tips another packet of sugar into his coffee. 

Washington, the man that Alex revers and admires more than it probably strictly necessary (Aaron has told him too many times that his idolisation of his professor is unhealthy) is strict and he tries to be fair but he asks a lot of his students, of Alex, he cultivates his favourite students to follow in his footsteps and Alex knows that it’s not strictly out of the goodness of his heart. And then there is himself, Laf and Aaron are in it because of they believe in their cause, of course they do, but there’s an element of self-interest too; they all want to further themselves, make a name for themselves outside of university life whether it’s politics or in law and these protests, this militant organising of the student body and marking themselves out as leaders… well, it helps leave an impression on all the regressive fuckers in charge of the nation. 

By doing this, Alex knows that he will make himself impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. 

John though… He wants to help people, it’s written clearly in the laughter lines around his eyes and the frown lines on his forehead. It’s in the way he walks and talks to people, so full of hope and the earnest conviction that radiates off him. He wants to be a doctor, he wants to heal the world, and he realises that maybe healing the world comes at the price of violence sometimes. Alex recognises his recklessness and his anger but he also recognises the deep-seated desire to cure his society of its ills.

“… someone really needs to like, just shut him up y’know?” John concludes, stabbing his breakfast muffin with his fork angrily. “And like, Washington refuses to get involved, but seriously? Charles Lee is such a dick and you know the shit he’s been talking?” Alex nods solemnly, because he knows better than most the kind of shit that Lee has been spouting seeing as the man is the TA for Washington’s classes. “You were saying the same thing last week, why’ve you not spoken to Washington about it? Get the guy fired or something?” John asks at last, leaning back in his chair and regarding Alex slowly.

“I have.” He replies immediately, the old anger rising again as it always does when someone questions him, though he knows that it’s unfair to take it out on John when they’re on the same side and Alex would sooner take a bullet for the man than argue with him. “Apparently, it’s not that simple - Lee has ties to the Latino students on campus and Washington doesn’t want to alienate them… I don’t know, he’s a dick, but Washington says we need him.” He isn’t happy about this fact, and it’s apparent in his voice. John watches him, and Alex can see the annoyance and understand warring behind the man’s eyes. He see it because he feels it too - the loyalty and absolute faith in Washington at odds with what they _know_ to be true. “Washington says I can’t do anything about it either. I’m too involved in LUCHA and he says that infighting in the society will just make people feel unsafe.” Which _sucks_ , because Lee makes enough people feel unsafe as it is.

At this admission, Alex sees something settle in the other man’s stance, it’s in the set of his shoulders as much as in his eyes, a certain kind of certainty that reminds Alex that for all Laurens cares and wants to protect people, he’s a fighter too. Utterly unafraid of spilling blood if it means his conscience will be clear. He looks so at ease with himself, a small grin curling his lips that is equal parts reassuring and absolutely terrifying and Alex finds himself falling a little bit more in love with the man (not like that… not anymore at least). “Well then, if you can’t do anything about it. And hey, I understand why - you’re Washington’s guy, his right-hand man - then I will.” Alex opens his mouth to protest, but John cuts across him with an easy wave of his hand, “No, Alexander, I’m not involved in LUCHA, I have nothing to lose here. No ties with any communities asides from Washington and he’ll cover me. He always does.”  

Alex thinks he should point out that Washington’s organisation, this protest can only go ahead if he keeps it quiet for the time being. Washington has already told them that he can’t be seen to show them favouritism (he’s a hypocrite and everyone knows it, but the faculty are willing to overlook it for now) and whatever plan that is forming into place will put Washington in a difficult situation but at the same time… he doesn’t really care. Lee has pushed and pushed, he undermines Washington’s authority at any opportunity, he openly insults the man - Alex’s fucking _hero_ \- and Alex wants someone to stand up to the man for once. To show him no mercy and to make him shut up. It might be selfish to be willing to put John at risk, but John is happy to do it, and Alex _wants_ him to with a burning fury.

He should point out that what John is planning on doing is dangerous but he doesn’t. His mouth splits into a grin that is more feral than anything and he raises his hand in a fist that John bumps with his own. 

Their laughter echoes in the empty canteen.

His phone buzzes on the table, bringing him back to earth, and he bites back a groan when he realises that it’s from Eliza, guilt immediately flooding his system. John notices of course, though unlike Laf, he simply raises an eyebrow and shrugs a shoulder at Alex’s obvious discomfort. “Not spoken to her much lately, have you?” He asks at last, sounding a little too amused for Alex’s liking, but he just nods his head and pushes a few strands of hair out of his eyes with a small sigh. “Ehh, tell her you’ve got a thing with Washington,” he checks his phone for the time and mutters a swear, “Which, fuck, we actually do. Herc says that Cato has some info.” 

Alex isn’t exactly pleased by how relieved he is that he’s able to put off the inevitable a little longer and he quickly fires off a text to Eliza, a very short - _sorry, gotta see GWash, talk soon xx_ \- before John is dragging him away to Washington’s office.  

When Alex first stepped foot inside Washington’s office he’d been surprised by how empty it was. A large desk facing away from the bay window, a few books on political and military theory on the shelves and a couple of chairs in the corner. It had been devoid of all the emotion that Washington inspired in Alex save for a photograph of Martha and him on their wedding day. Now though, Alex can’t quite picture it any other way - it’s austere and to the point much like the man himself. Sitting in the chair that he’s pulled up, Alex feels small and a little insignificant under the weight of Washington’s steady gaze. 

Cato is standing to the side, talking with Hercules in a low, quiet baritone. He doesn’t talk to them much - always addresses with Washington with a kind of removed politeness that Alex sort of thinks is laced with something a little less than kind, but he won’t bring it up because Cato is useful. More than useful actually, he’s been spying on the far-right students that revere George Hanover since the beginning of the semester and Alex has no idea how he’s managed it. A black kid from Harlem who got into university on a sports scholarship… He’s not the kind of person that trust fund kids usually mix with and if what he’s says is true (and Alex has no doubt that it is) then they mostly keep him around as a _fucking trophy_ , an _exotic pet_ if you will, and the very idea makes his blood burn with thick, toxic venom. 

Washington clears his throat, and the room falls silent. Alex straightens in his chair. “As you all know, Hanover is creating quite a large buzz around campus. Some students are, of course, nervous about this. It’s understandable - they don’t want to be involved in something that might cause them harm, and they think that it would be easier to simply let Hanover come and talk… We know that this is not acceptable. Our university is known for it’s liberalism - we allow this man in our halls, that liberalism takes a direct hit. Other universities might follow suit and let him spread his toxic message.” He pauses surveying his students, his proteges with a kind of weariness that Alex thinks only comes from seeing this happen before. “We must stay ahead of what they’re planning. Because whilst most students are willing to let this happen passively, and then go on with their routine, unaffected, others are looking to Hanover for the answers. Answers that can only lead to destruction. He has the power and the opportunity to shape America’s youth and therefore it’s future. We all know that this _cannot_ be allowed to happen.” Besides him, John is nodding along, but Alex remains still, drinking in the words of his leader with a single minded precision. “Cato, you have information, I believe.” 

Washington barely spares the man a glance, and Alex notices that the young man in the corner seems to bristle at the rather brusque innovation to speak. Still, when his voice is even, his tone calm and his stance is that of a soldier, utterly confident in what he’s doing. “Yeah, the kids I’m hanging with - Seabury, Cornwallis, that crowd - know about the protest you’re organising. I don’t know how they found out, but they’re talking about organising a rally in support of Hanover. Just talking right now, but they’re definitely motivated.” Washington nods his head, like this is something he’s been expecting, despite the fact that they’ve been trying to keep talk of the protest quiet where possible. 

“If that’s all the—”

“No. There’s something else,” Cato cuts Washington off, his quiet voice filling the room. Washington raises an eyebrow, and motions for the man to continue, and this time, his gaze is firmly on Cato, brow furrowed slightly. “Benedict Arnold - he’s in my history seminar - I know you say he’s loyal to you, but he's been talking to me more. Says he’s interested in meeting the others.” He pauses, obviously uncomfortable, “I think he’s looking for a way in with Cornwallis, or something.”

And well, _fuck_.

Alex doesn’t know Ben that well, he’s seen him around and they’ve had a few conversations but it’s always been surface level chats but he likes the guy well enough. Ben always seemed like he had a good head on him and he knows that Washington trusts the dude enough to talk tactics and theory with him. Fuck it, Ben’s been to enough of their meetings - never saying much but always making the right noises that Alex had thought that he was an ally - more than that even, he’d thought he’d be there to fight on the front lines as it were. 

The atmosphere in the room has chilled, besides him, John is looking positively murderous and Herc is shifting uncomfortably, a hand on Cato’s shoulder like he’s trying to protect the messenger. Cato and Washington are the only ones who look relatively calm - Cato because he already knows, and Washington because… Well Alex doesn’t know exactly why, but he imagines that the man is already thinking of his next move. 

Except then, Washington is clearing his throat and he’s fucking smiling and shaking his head, “No,” He says simply, as if the information that Cato has just revealed is the punchline to a bad joke. “No,I trust Benedict. He wouldn’t be so idiotic to be swayed by their propaganda.” Confusion swells in Alex’s throat, and he blinks several times, fingers knotting themselves together.

“Sir, are you sure? Cato’s never given us bad information before.” Here is saying, and he’s actually moved in front of Cato now, a physical barrier between him and the rest of the world. “I appreciate that you know what you’re doing,” but the slight tension in his words betray the lie, “but maybe you should—” 

“Hercules, I appreciate you’re concern, but Benedict is not a threat or anything to worry about.” Washington’s words are final, his tone calm, almost friendly, but its leave no room for argument. “You’re all dismissed.” Alex waits for a moment or two, as everyone begins to gather their things to leave, he waves John on who looks back Alex beforeshrugging and walking out the door. 

When it’s just him and Washington alone in the office, he stands. “Sir, about Arnold… Are you sure we can trust him?” He asks, not particularly wanting to question Washington’s authority and judgement, but he can’t help the skittering doubt that crawls his spine at the thought of Ben turning on them pushes him to say something.

Washington regards him slowly, and Alex wants to shrink back under his gaze but he stands tall, keeping eye contact and balling his hands into fists by his sides to stop himself from fidgeting. Finally, _finally_ , Washington leans back and his eyes soften slightly and Alex lets out of breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Alexander, I understand you want this to succeed - perhaps more than anyone else here, and that is admirable,” pride flushes Alex’s chest at the compliment, “Trust my judgement here. Benedict is one of us. Now, you should go to your classes, I’ll be in touch soon.” 

He nods slowly, and mumbles a quiet, _yes sir_ , before turn and walking out the door. There’s someone lounging on the bench outside Washington’s office and Alex half expects it to be John except when he looks up he finds himself staring at Jefferson’s vaguely smug face. Jefferson shifts in his seat, and raises an eyebrow, “Well, hi,” he says and then he’s smiling and the smugness which Alex thinks is just Jefferson’s default seems to fade slightly, leaving the taller man looking… unsure of himself? His eyes slide the Jefferson’s hands which are toying with the hem of his shirt (rumpled and creased as if he’d grabbed it off the floor and hadn’t had time to make himself as fully presentable to world as he usually did).

“Err, yeah hi,” Alex replies, the words feel slightly awkward in his mouth and he is suddenly very aware of the fact that Jefferson knows about his date with Eliza and probably the fact that he’s been really shit with dealing with situation thus far. Why it matters, he doesn’t understand, nor does he particularly want to understand, but somehow it does. He doesn’t like the idea of Jefferson knowing about his personal business, doesn’t like the fact that Jefferson is slowly becoming a more integral part of his life and consequentially his thoughts. 

It’s unsettling, and Alex almost misses the time when Jefferson was just the dick he debated with in Washington’s lectures.

Almost being the key word.

The silence between them hangs thick in the air, loaded and palpable and Alex shifts his weight from one foot to other feeling grossly unsure of himself in way that not even Washington can make him feel. “How come you’re here?” He asks at last, and he watches as Jefferson blinks and his hands stop fidgeting.  

“Washington wants to talk about something I wrote.” He says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not even published yet, but Paine told him I helped a bit with _Common Sense_ and said that I was writing something similar. Anyways, I think Washington wants to _recruit_ me to your little army,” Annoyance seems to roll off of him in waves and Alex immediately feels his hackles rising.   

Rolling back on the balls of his feet, Alex glares at Jefferson, pleased that the other man is slouched low on the bench because for once, he’s taller than him. “Oh no, poor you,” He drawls, sarcasm dripping from his words like acid, “Must be a real fucking pain for you to admit that you might fucking care about what happens around here, hey? You can’t have it both ways, y’know? You can’t just… swan around here doing whatever you want and then not expect people to take notice.”

All at once, Jefferson is uncoiling himself, standing up and looming over him with such fluidity that Alex is momentarily overwhelmed. For a moment he thinks that Jefferson is going to lose his temper, something that as far as Alex knows, only happens when he’s involved. That fact shouldn’t make him as proud as it does, but there you go. Jefferson’s throat works angrily for a second, as if he struggling to hold back a growl and Alexander finds himself wanting the other man to let go, finds himself wanting to push for that very reaction, to get under his skin in a way that only he can. He watches Jefferson with a kind of intensity that should probably startle him except it kind of doesn’t and that’s another thing he doesn’t want to look into too much. Jefferson stares back down at him, dark eyes wide and full of unknown and unknowable emotion. Eventually, his shakes his head and drags a hand though his curls, “I’m not getting into to this with you. Not here, not now.” He says, voice pitched low and rough. The fact that he’s merely postponing the inevitable debate about his life choices doesn’t go unnoticed by Alex however.

He just decides to ignore it anyways.

He wants to do this now, before he can think better of it, or before Jefferson decides he doesn’t care enough to discuss it further, whichever comes first. “Nah, you can’t just avoid this,” _Me. You can’t avoid me_ , his brain whispers treacherously, “You wrote an article agreeing with us? You don’t like Hanover, that’s good - that’s fucking _great._ You’re takinga stand but refusing to align yourself with people who are actually taking action? What the _fuck_ man?” He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in angry, uneven strokes. Jefferson’s eyes are narrowed, he looks like he wants to punch Alex or something and he almost wishes he would, because the tension that’s settled between them is full of something that feels like promise and he can’t fucking stand it.

Jefferson blows a long sigh through pursed lips and closes his eyes, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. “Not all of us are free to do what they like without any thought for what it will do to other people. Some of us have expectations to meet.” He shakes his head and looks away, “No, I don’t want to talk about this with you right now. I shouldn’t even fucking engage with you, it’s stupid that you make me do that.” A thrill runs downs Alexander’s spine at the admittance that seems to have been dragged out of Jefferson without him even really realising. 

“Yeah well, I’m glad someone can.” He mutters, shoving his hands in his hoody pockets to hide the fact that they’re shaking. It’s the truth too, he is pleased that someone can make Jefferson think for once in his goddamn life, rather than just rolling in his father’s footsteps. It’s just that he likes the fact that it’s him specifically who can do this to Jefferson that freaks him out slightly. “Look, whatever, you go talk to Washington, do what you have to do.” The anger drains out of him quickly, and he’s left feeling _empty_. He hates it. “Look, I’m free tomorrow, if you wanna talk or something, then yeah… Let me know.” 

He doesn't wait for Jefferson’s response, refuses to look at him as he walks away from the other man. He hears Washington’s office door open and shut and then he’s taking the steps two at a time, finger itching to write something, anything to make him forget this whole fucking ordeal. 

Why Jefferson has this effect on him, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really want to.

But seriously, _fuck_ Jefferson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm so, so sorry for the wait on this chapter! It took way longer for me to write up than I thought it would, but I'm already half way through the next one so it will be up soon, I promise! Thank you so much for all the absolutely lovely responces, you have no idea how happy it makes me
> 
> I'm not sure if it's obvious (I feel like it is?) but I really dislike Washington (and Alex loves him which frustrating but hey ho) and Cato is making an appearance! I never understood why he didn't even get a mention in the musical so I wanted to include an actual black spy from history who is probably one of the coolest figure in the AmRev. 
> 
> Also, LUCHA is the NYU latino society so credit to them.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is raiseaglassson.tumblr.com if you want another hamilton trash blog to follow or throw things at (i wouldn't blame you tbh)


	6. 6

It’s more than slightly awkward when Alexander next walks into Biko’s and has to face Eliza again. It’s been just over two weeks, and he knows that she deserves more than what he’s given her: a couple of half-hearted texts and four-minute phone conversation that consisted of him dodging any real attempts to meet up again. At the end of the call Eliza had sighed and she’d sounded so weary that Alex’s gut had clenched uncomfortably. He _wants_ to like her like that, he wants to be what she needs and what she deserves, and he wants her to be that for him too, but something isn’t right, and he _can’t_ ignore that. He stands outside Biko’s dithering for a good ten minutes before Aaron arrives and rolls his eyes.

Aaron’s gaze shifts from Biko’s to Alex, his lips set in a thin line before he reaches into his pockets and pulls out a lighter and untucks a cigarette from behind his ear. Alex briefly wonders if Aaron practises these movements in front a mirror because everything that the man does looks sleek and professional. He asks as much, his voice rough and his words skitter into the cool morning air. “Of course not. That would be… ridiculous. It would be ridiculous.” Aaron murmurs as he exhales smoke. The smell is dark and expensive; it matches Aaron’s personality; smooth and polished with an undertone of something that sets Alex just slightly on edge.

“A lot of what you do is ridiculous,” Alex counters, a small smile tugging at his lips, pleased for a distraction, “Why would this be any different?” 

Another eye roll, and, this time, Aaron doesn’t play along with Alex’s game. “You’re avoiding her.” He says sounding bored and really, he probably is. Aaron doesn’t seem to find much of anything interesting outside of Theodosia and his law degree. “I would have thought you of all people would have wanted to ahh…” He seems to search for a way to say what he wants to delicately for a moment or two before shrugging, “date her. Fuck her. Cement your place in the aristocracy.” A sly smile curls his lips and Alex feels his face heat up under the scrutiny. Aaron has a way of cutting you down to your worst traits and laying them out in the open to examine. He will make a excellent lawyer, Alex is sure of it. “Wasn’t that what you said when I first met you? Just you wait, Aaron Burr, _sir_ , anything it takes?”

Alex shifts uncomfortably, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket but he turns to look Aaron in the eye, his gaze fierce and his mouth set in an angry slant. “I didn’t know her then. Maybe… maybe I would have, but not anymore. I’m not fucking _heartless_.” The ‘ _unlike you’_ is left unsaid, which is maybe for the best because Aaron isn’t heartless exactly, he’s just… unreadable in a way that is easy to mistake for cold-bloodedness.

“Then go inside. Tell her you’re _so_ sorry you’ve been a dick and that you’re not ready for a relationship with her. That maybe you never will be, because _Eliza Schuyler_ of all people, deserves better than any of us.” He’s probably only saying this because he got turned down by Angelica in his first year, Alex has only heard snippets of what happened but apparently it had been quite a spectacle. Nowadays, Aaron and Angelica are polite and distant to each other, and Eliza is usually the one to strike up a conversation with Aaron if there’s an awkward moment.

Laf’s comment about there being strength in kindness surges to the top of Alex’s mind unbidden. With a sigh, he nods and gives the other man a small salute which Aaron returns with a wry grin, before walking inside the coffee shop. The place is quiet which is both a good and a bad thing because it means that there won’t be an audience but it also means that there will be no easy way of escape should this go as badly as he thinks it will.

Angelica spots him first, and she purses her lips, folding her arms over her chest, her displeasure practically radiating off of her in waves. “Alexander, how lovely to see your face again.” She calls, and Alex catches the way Eliza’s shoulder tense for a second even when her back is turned. _Oh god._ Angelica glances over her shoulder to where Eliza has turned around and is leaning on the back counter, to Alex. She doesn’t look like she wants to leave her sister, but Eliza sighs and shakes her head, reaches out to touch her sister’s elbow and Angelica nods. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be with Martha out back if you need me.” With one last glance over towards Alex that looks more sad than it does angry, she departs, tugging at the hem of her orange jumper. 

There’s silence for a moment or two during which Eliza just looks at him with a steady stare and he wishes he would just melt into the floor. Eventually, though, Eliza sighs and God, she sighs a lot because of him, which just makes him feel worse about the whole situation (which a small part of him whispers viciously, shouldn’t even be that big of a deal - this happens to lots of people, and it’s not like they were even dating or anything). 

And yet.

Eliza has moved away from the coffee machine, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and raises an eyebrow. Alex shifts from one foot to the other. “You know if you weren’t interested you could have just said.” She says, at last, her tone even and fair, but there is an underlying hint of accusation and annoyance, which Alex supposes is warranted. He opens his mouth to say something (though what he isn’t quite sure), but she raises her hand, stopping him before he can even take a breath. “No. No, let me talk.” Dark eyes search his face for something which evidently she can’t find because her expression hardens and she shakes her head. “I only asked you out because you kept flirting with me, you know. At first,  I thought it was just banter, but you kept doing it, so I thought… Well, obviously I thought you liked me, and obviously, I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.” He interjects because he can’t stand the sight of Eliza doubting herself because of him. “You weren’t wrong; I do like you… I just… I don’t think I can be what you need.” He finally admits, deciding to forgo Aaron’s niceties that will surely make Eliza feel a little bit better in favour of honesty because that is all he’s ever had. His pride and his honesty have carried him through everything that life has thrown at him for better or for worse, and without them… Without them, Alexander is sure that he will fail completely. Dissolve into the raging sea of emotions that tear through him on a daily basis and he _cannot_ allow that to happen. Not now, not when there is so much at stake. “… Eliza, you have to know that I care deepl—”

“Stop it, Alex.” She sounds tired, but her eyes are a strange mix of understanding and hardness. It’s not something he’s used to seeing, but Eliza’s empathy is boundless it seems. “Just stop it. Whatever spiel you have… Whatever story or excuse… Whatever beautiful words you have stored in your mind - and I know you do - just save them. I don’t want to hear it.” She shakes her head and crosses her arms tight around her waist. “You know that Angelica was right about you?” And oh God, if he’d been worried about Eliza, he hadn’t even begun to think about what Angelica would have to say. “She said that you’d do this, that you run too hot… too volatile.” 

Alex suspects that she probably said something far harsher, but he can’t deny that she has a point, it’s just that he hates the thought of the Schuyler sisters’ talking about him without his knowledge. It’s different when it’s people disagreeing with his politics or his beliefs, but this is personal, and it cuts far deeper than he thought it would.

He opens his mouth, wanting to defend himself but at that moment the for swings open and Aaron and… fucking hell, _Jefferson_ walk through. They haven’t spoken since their meeting outside Washington’s office, and Alex takes no small amount of pleasure (though it’s mixed with annoyance) in the fact that Jefferson has been quiet for the last two weeks, not provoking Alex in Washington’s lectures and avoiding him around campus. Despite the fact that he knows they need to talk about it all at some point, Alex can’t help but feel like he’s won some unspoken fight.

Still, right now, with Jefferson looking as carefree as the day he was born, elbows propped on the counter and an easygoing smile edging his lips, Alex feels his cheeks heat up. Thankfully, Aaron (very smoothly, but then, he’s always smooth) slides up besides him, and offers Eliza what looks like a genuinely heartfelt smile. The edges of his lips curve upwards, and he lowers his head slightly, conveying embarrassment and sympathy without being overbearing. He doesn’t have to say a word, and Alex envies him his eloquent silence. “We’re sorry for interrupting, but Thomas was craving coffee and couldn’t wait any longer.” 

At this, Jefferson, who has moved to stand just behind Alex, a solid, almost steadying presence that is just enough to stop him from fidgeting, breathes out a huff of apologetic laughter and Alexander can feel the way he shrugs, he can imagine the self-effacing, self-deprecating half-smile he’ll throw at Eliza, the _sincerity_ that Alex knows seems so _real_ and _honest_ until you dig deep enough, though he hopes to God that this time, _this time_ , Thomas does mean it. “I do apologise for my tunnel vision. My coffee machine is broken - overuse I imagine - and you do make the best coffee on campus.”

Angelica appears behind the counter, and she glances from Eliza to Alex and then her eyes slide to Aaron and Jefferson. She doesn’t look happy, but she does roll her eyes at the tail end of Jefferson’s sentence. “For god’s sake, Thomas. Flattery is not gonna get you a free coffee, you fucking cheapskate.” She touches Eliza’s shoulder who in return smiles just slightly and inclines her head, a silent conversation is obviously happening between them and Alex wonder’s if he should leave but Aaron is already placing their orders - black for himself, too much milk and sugar for Alex and some weird fancy latte with hazelnut and vanilla for Jefferson and then he’s ushering both of them towards a window seat with a stern look.

“Be nice while I get our order. Don’t start a fucking scene or I swear to god I’ll sell you both out to Seabury myself.” He threatens them both before schooling his features back into something bland and vaguely empathetic.

Seconds pass, and Jefferson is looking infuriatingly calm. He’s lounging back in his chair, long legs kicked out in front of him so that they rest against Alex’s calves, and he wishes that Jefferson would sit normally for once, it feels like he’s flaunting something that shouldn’t be flaunted. But there’s nothing to flaunt; he knows that, logically, he know that but logic isn’t stopping the low, angry flush from creeping up his neck or the telltale goosebumps that prick his skin, setting him on edge in the worst way possible. He scowls and Jefferson blinks at him, expression one of pure innocence and goddamnit, he _knows_. Alex isn’t sure how he knows, but he does because a slow, lazy grin is settling on the other’s lips, softening his features and causing his to scrunch in muffled amusement.

“You’re a dick.” Alex grits out with as much feeling as he possibly can while still keeping his voice low and quiet so no one can overhear.

“Says the guy who just broke a poor girl’s heart.” Counters Jefferson with a shrug. “Honestly, James and I were taking bets on how long it would last.” At this, Alex’s eyes widen in indigence, because his private life isn’t a fucking game and it isn’t for Jefferson and Madison to joke about. His hands are clenching on the table top, and Jefferson has the decency to look vaguely apologetic. He reaches out, and his hands (large and smooth and ink-stained) hover awkwardly over Alex’s for a second, dark eyes sliding towards the counter where Aaron and Angelica are in all likelihood exchanging sarcastic comments and Eliza is chuckling softly at their conversation. He bites his lower lip and places them back in his lap.

Alex hates the regret that twinges in his stomach. 

“If it’s any consolation, I now owe James a fiver.” And that’s… well, that’s slightly unexpected, Alex has to admit. He would have thought that Jefferson would be all too happy to predict and exaggerate Alex’s failings. He says as much, his voice tense and curious and perhaps a little hurt, and Jefferson just shrugs a shoulder, glancing out of the window to watch the passers by. “I thought you would have liked someone to slow you down a bit. Keep you centred…” He trails off uncertainly, his words dying before they’ve even had a chance to live fully, and he blinks three times in quick succession. “I don’t know… They say opposites attract, don’t they? That’s you and Eliza all over.”

“Yeah, but then so are we.” Alex points out without thinking and his eyes go wide this time out of embarrassment and oh Jesus, that was maybe the most inappropriate thing he could have said. It’s true, but that’s not the point. Eliza is his opposite in all the right ways (or what should be all the right ways) and Jefferson is not. He’s aloof and blind to his privilege, he’s far too thin skinned for the amount of shit he dishes and he’s wrong on so many levels and Alex hates the small part of him that finds him fascinating. Honestly he does.

Jefferson turns to face, expression inscrutable before he raises an eyebrow (most likely at the look of shock and horror that’s plastered across Alex’s own face) before his face splits into a grin and he’s fucking laughing, loud and infuriatingly happy. It’s like he enjoys Alex’s suffering.

He probably does.

No. He _definitely_ does.

Angelica looks up sharply and Eliza stiffens but doesn’t make a move. Aaron sighs, long-suffering and pained. “I’m going to fucking kill one of them one day.” He mumbles. Eliza laughs softly, and Angelica pats his arm and says as cheerfully as she can manage, “You know, I never thought I’d agree with you Burr, but I’d happily help hide the body.”

Aaron sets their coffee cups down with enough force to slosh coffee down the sides and Jefferson’s laughter immediately falters as he stares in outrage at the liquid dripping down the mugs. “Save it, Thomas.” Aaron cuts across whatever the other man had been about to say and fixes them both with a glare. “This is not what I meant when I said not to cause a scene. Enjoy your coffee, you idiots.” With that, he waves a goodbye towards Eliza and Angelica and strides out the door. Alex wonders if Aaron is genuinely annoyed or if he’s just grown bored. He figures it’s probably a mix of the two. Guilt settles in his stomach.

Jefferson takes a sip of his coffee and smiles a little uneasily, “Sorry, sorry… I think Angelica was rather hoping I’d be here to make you feel like shit-”

“Well, you’re succeeding, so congratulations.”

“Oh? Well, that’s good then. I’d hate to be in her bad graces; she’s quite good at holding grudges.” He drawls though the way he’s smiling indicates that’s he’s been in her bad graces to know exactly how to crawl back into her good ones. “But no, sadly I’m here on business. Washington made a very good offer.” He sighs, and Alex can see the almost imperceptible tension creep back into his posture. “Something about a role in the student government next semester if this goes according to plan. James is already a student delegate so there’s not much more he can do until the aftermath anyways.” 

If he means to sound offhand and casual, then he’s failing miserably, but Alex doesn’t feel like picking a fight. Partly because so long as Jefferson is doing something to help the cause, his motives aren’t of much interest to Alex and partly because it would be pretty hypocritical of him to call him out on taking up the offer when he did the exact same thing.

It might not have been his proudest moment, but the offer that Washington made - an elevated chance of getting on the student government… Well who the hell refuses an offer like that? He thinks he would have done this anyways - would have stood up for what was right _because_ it was the right thing to do but… Well, it’s enlightened self-interest and the world revolves around that special kind of selfishness that coincidentally happens to help others. Alex would be a naive fool to think otherwise.

“That’s a pretty good incentive.” He says slowly, “It would look good on your CV.” It would; a key role in the student government? That was the sort of thing employers jerked off too. Jefferson nodes, his shoulder relaxing slightly and Alex can’t help but wonder if it’s because of his approval before he quashes that thought. “What about this article though? It’s not published yet, is it?” He knows it isn’t because though he wouldn’t ever admit this to Jefferson (or anyone really) he’s been looking out for it, going so far as to check Jefferson’s fucking tumblr for any hints about a publication but nothing has turned up.

“Mmm, I’m trying to figure out best way to get it published. I don’t want it to be a university thing.” He says at last, taking another sip of coffee. “If I’m doing this-” he gestures around the coffee shop and towards Alex, a strange blend of resignation and determination settling across his face “-then I’m doing it properly. There’s no point in stopping George from talking here, if he can just go to another university.”

“It’s got to be national.” Alex supplies, finding himself more and more intrigued, “You think you’re essay is enough to inspire that kind of reaction in places where they don’t know your name?” He asks, and it’s not a dig this time. He’s genuinely interested and curious because he knows that Thomas has a talent when it comes to the written word - he’s read some of the man’s articles before, but it’s always been backed up by his name, his reputation… Whether that would translate where those mean nothing is a different matter entirely.

“Of course. You’ve checked twitter, haven’t you? You’ve seen that other students are just as annoyed by this. All it takes is one solid manifesto, and you have a united front, something bigger than just this university. Other’s will lead if only they have something to follow, and that’s what I’ve written.” It’s ridiculous how arrogant Thomas can sometimes be, and Alex almost rolls his eyes because he can’t understand how the other man can’t see it. Except… there’s something steely in Thomas’s eyes, a determination that Alex has seen before, except it’s always been clouded by confusion and the heavy shroud of self-absorbed privilege. 

This, he realises, is what he’s been trying to find in Jefferson since the beginning of the semester. This is what he’s _wanted_ from the start and now that he’s found it - now that he knows that the realisation and self-awareness he’s caught glimpses of in Thomas when they debate have grown and evolved into something concrete… Alex doesn’t want to let go. It’s almost intoxicating knowing that he was the one who pushed Thomas to this, that he’s the one who’s partly responsible for this growth. 

If Thomas was lovely when he doubted himself, then he’s _beautiful_ like this.

And Alex really doesn’t want to think about what the implications of what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too early to say that these boys are finally getting somewhere in terms of feelings? Is it okay that it happened in fron of Eliza? (The answer is no. No it's not okay, and I'm sorry but they're both selfish so it sort of fits? That's my excuse anyways). 
> 
> As always, if you my tumblr is raiseaglassson.tumblr.com if you wanna come chat about this story or hamilton in general - thanks guys!


	7. 7

Eventually, they can’t keep the news of the protest from spreading. Despite Washington wanting to keep it as quiet as they can for the time being whilst they organise, it seems that Cato’s information was good and a week later Alexander is ripping posters for the pro-Hanover rally off the halls of his accommodation angrily. They still don’t know if it’s Ben who has been sneaking information to Cornwallis and his band of Hanover fanboys; Washington categorically refuses to question him and Alex categorically refuses to go against Washington’s judgement like that. He’s spoken to Cato about it in private, asked him for more information, but Cato had just shrugged, said that if Alex didn’t believe him then he wasn’t wasting his breath again. Hercules had stepped in at that point, glared Alex down until he’d had no choice but to slouch off, angry and annoyed. 

The thing is, he trusts Cato. The kid probably has more to lose them any of them (Jefferson would probably disagree given the way he’s been acting since Washington got him onside, but Alex doesn’t particularly care what Jefferson thinks. That’s a lie - he _does_ care and it’s majorly fucking irritating.) so it’s fair to assume that the information he does manage to smuggle to them is solid. It just so happens that it’s not information that any of them want to believe.

Still, now that the information is out, they have to act, and quickly. He enters the back room of Biko’s with Laf and John, keeping his head lowered so as to carefully avoid Eliza’s gaze. Washington is already there, as is Herc, Aaron and Jefferson, all of them gathered around the senatorial table apart from Jefferson who is curled up in an armchair to the side, laptop balancing in his knees. His laptop obscures most of his face but Alex thinks he looks… nervous? maybe? certainly not the confident, idle academic that he usually looks.

Washington looks up when they enter, waves them over. Aaron is tapping at something on his tablet, and Alex can only guess he’s writing out a couple of well-thought out tweets. Nothing so aggressive that he might scare people off but as persuasive and influential as anyone can be in one hundred and forty characters. “Thomas, you realise that your hashtag is trending right now?” Aaron asks, amusement lacing his voice. “For someone who was unsure if they wanted their name attached to this, you’re certainly making waves.” Alex raises an eyebrow, already thumbing through his phone and sure enough _#saynotothis_ is trending in North America. He fires ten tweets in quick succession, each with more exclamation marks than the last, each more angry, more passionate, more _vital_. This is happening. It’s happening and sure, it’s early days but he can just tell that they’re gaining traction, gaining support - not just from their own university, here in New York City - but in across the country. 

It’s happening.

It’s actually fucking happening.

“Yeah, well, causing a stir… it’s what I do best.” Is Jefferson’s response, his Southern drawl slipping over his words like honey, purposefully emphasised, though Alex doesn’t really get why Jefferson feels the need to remind everyone of his heritage.

“Have you decided how you’re distributing your essay?” Laf asks, he’s wandered over to Herc, Aaron and Washington, his attention evenly split between the plans laid flat on the table and Jefferson. Alex is left standing on his own by the entrance, lingering by the doorway. Part of him wants to sit with Jefferson, wants to talk, to… he doesn’t even know. He shakes his head, glances across to Jefferson one more time, only to find that he’s staring back. Jefferson raises an eyebrow then his eyes slide across to Washington, there’s something slightly challenging, yet resigned about his expression, and Alex frowns. 

He makes his way over to Washington, standing on his right hand side, a little way back and leans forward in the table. Thomas is quiet for a moment, he’s still watching Alex though his expression is inscrutable before he turns his attention to Laf. Alex almost breathes a sigh of relief. “Pamphlets - hard copies around the university. I’d like to avoid any ties with the papers connected to here, let it stand on it’s own. And I’ll post it online, of course.” He sounds so sure of himself right now, and Alex can’t help but wonder if it’s an act or is Thomas is actually so confident in himself that he thinks he can succeed without the backing of the Student’s Union. He imagines it’s a mix of the two.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Thomas?” Washington asks, his voice neutral, but Alex can tell from the man’s folded arms that he’s unhappy with the thought of Thomas venturing outside of the university’s control in such a way. He supposes he can understand Washington’s reluctance to hand control over to Thomas in such a way, but he can see that this is already becoming something bigger than just their university - it’s gaining nationwide attention, and if the voices of other students from across the states are anything to go by then it’s probably the right move to cut ties with one specific university. 

Herc and Aaron have stopped going over plans in order to watch the unfolding scene, scepticism written clear on both their faces and Alex can’t blame them, he too is filled with the kind of edginessthat floods him before a fight. Thomas, for once, looks about as calm as he ever has - there’s a glint in his eyes, one that tells Alex that he’s aware of what Washington is thinking and that he in all probability doesn’t care. He looks like a child who knows he’ll get his own way, and Alex sort of wants to wipe the smugness radiating off his face, but what would that achieve? Another vaguely sad stare? A Thomas who can’t stop his hands from trembling when he wants to talk? Ultimately, Alex would rather have this kind of Thomas - one who knows when he’s right than one who isconstantly second guessing himself.

He wonders when that changed. When he stopped searching for ways to make Thomas question everything that fell from his lips, stopped enjoying watching him flounder and gasp for air under the pressure of people who know better than he does… Except… Well, no. He stills wants that, in a weird sort of way. Alex doesn’t understand why, but he knows that he gets kick out of watching Thomas’ prejudices fall apart around him, but he enjoys it more when it’s he’s the cause of the other man’s soul-searching. Something about Washington taking Thomas down a peg or two leaves Alex cold and strangely - _fiercely_ \- protective of the Virginian.

And maybe that’s something he should try to understand but right now is not the time and Thomas’ gaze has slid back to him, and he’s watching Alex with the sort of intensity that makes him want to burn in the best and worst ways. It’s not just Alex who’s feeling the tension that’s settled in the room now; Aaron’s gaze flickers between the two of them, a slow, easy smirk breaking across his mouth and Laf is tapping his foot against the worn oak floorboards, obviously itching to say something that will break the silence that has seeped from the walls and is quickly filling the room.

Eventually, Thomas runs a hand through his hair and says in a measured tone, “Yeah, I do. To keep this within out university would potentially stifle the chances of other students from other colleges. You were the one who told me that I had to think of this a starting point - that this would lead to bigger things.” Thomas says, and Alex remembers the brief conversation they’d had - _something about a role in the student government next semester_ \- and realises that he’s manipulating the Professor’s own words in his favour, which would piss him off if he didn’t agree with Thomas’ reasoning. 

“He’s right,” Laf says, always the pragmatist, “It’s pointless to potentially cut off supporters of this because it might be safer. We’ve already thrown safety out the window, look at Seabury and Cornwallis. They’re planning these rallies, they’re planning something for the day of the protest… We can’t avoid conflict, and we shouldn’t have to.” He glances around the room, and tosses Thomas a small grin and then shrugs, “Of course, these are just my opinions, but I think, Professor, they are the right ones.” Despite the smile, Laf’s tone brooks no arguments, he’s posture is casual, but he pulls himself up to his full height, and not for the first time (not for the last time either) Alex is reminded of just how tactical Laf is - he thinks in terms of losses and gains, weighs up the options and makes his decisions based on the logic behind them. It’s not always kind, and it certainly doesn’t always win him points with the those who prefer peaceful protest, but Alex admires the man with a burning honour anyways.

Thomas simply grins, looking about as smug as a child who won an argument against a worn out parent and Washington is very much that worn out parent. The professor frowns but otherwise remains silent. Alex would think he were sulking if he didn’t know the man better than that. No, Washington is weighing up his options, trying to think of a plan that will satisfy everyone in the room, except of course, no one will ever be satisfied unless they can have it exactly their way. 

It’s just the way things go.

Eventually, Aaron and Herc start up their conversations, and the general mood in the room relaxes somewhat. Alex goes back to composing tweets (all incendiary, and none of that vague tweeting shit. Nope he’s made sure to @GeorgeHanoveriii in all of them). He’s good (more than good, if he’s being honest) at a lot of things, but this (being a prick to other pricks on the internet, to be precise) is probably what he enjoys the most and that probably doesn’t say anything good about him, but honestly, Alex couldn’t give fuck. He’s so absorbed in his phone that he doesn’t realise he’s being watched until he hears Thomas laugh quietly over his shoulder.

“Anyone ever told you that your dangerous with a keyboard?” Thomas asks, and Alex grins slightly, because yeah, he’s heard that one before. “Seriously, if you’re looking to start a fight I know a couple of people who are dying to talk to you.” Thomas moves around him, leaning against the table on his elbows, watching as Alex tucks his phone away, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Tell ‘em to get in line behind some guy in Colorado and a girl in Texas,” Alex tosses back easily enough. It’s strange though, because he knows that despite Thomas’ teasing tone, there really are people on campus (and now on campuses far away from him) who wouldn't mind finding a way to shut him up. In a way, he’s tempted to take Thomas up on the offer, ready for them. Ready to show them and everyone who doubts him what he’s capable of.

The desire to prove himself burns low and constant in his chest, flares up like a wildfire and consumes him when he’s met with doubt and ridicule. Distantly, he thinks he’d burn the fucking university down if it meant silencing his critics.

Except…

Except he can’t for so many reasons. His life has been one crisis after another, and he’d be lying if he said that on some level he hasn’t learned to enjoy the fallout of his actions, but he’d be damned if he destroyed this movement. 

Thomas is watching him, eyes steady and bright with something that Alex can’t quite place, doesn’t necessarily want to, but it throws him in a way none of these idiots on twitter ever could. Eventually, the other man rolls his neck, breaks eye contact and inexplicable relief and disappointment wells up in his stomach, douses the flames of his conviction for a moment.

“You’re in your head a lot.” Thomas says after a pause, frowning like this is something he’s only just realising and maybe it is, it’s not as if they know each other all that well. They formed their opinions of each other in Washington’s first lecture and neither of them made brilliant first impressions, Alex thinks, though personally, he would have put a lot more effort into getting to know Thomas if he hadn’t (wasn’t) such an egotistical, privileged dick. “Hmm, and here I was thinking you just liked the sound of our own voice. Never realised you actually spent time thinking about the words that came out of your mouth first.” 

“Ouch, really, you’re hurting my feelings, Jefferson,” He quips back, “Still, better than just parroting back what I heard growing up, hey?” And the thing is, even a couple of weeks ago, this would have signalled the beginnings of a fight. Thomas would have thrown back another insult - maybe it would have been personal, maybe it wouldn’t have - and they’d be off, spitting and ranting at each other until finally one of them got too close for comfort. It’s a pattern he’s used to, and one that strangely he sort of enjoys, if only for the moments where Thomas looked like he’d been cracked open and Alex was able to see the person that might have been, that _could still be_ , under the layers of privilege and pandering to the upper-classes. 

Now though… Well, Thomas doesn’t look particularly happy, but he doesn’t have that goddamn smirk plastered across his face either. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “And I’m sure you‘ve never said _‘Washington said’_ , before, _hmmm_?”

And well. Fine, maybe he has said something along those lines before. Once. More than once. But whatever, that’s not the point. “Whatever,” He says, and then frowns when Thomas’ face light up with a grin, obviously pleased that he thinks he’s won this round. “Hey, don’t look so smug - it’s not attractive on you.” Thomas raises an eyebrow, and maybe it’s Alex’s imagination, or maybe it isn’t, but he could swear there was something suggestive in the way that Thomas’ grin soften slightly, maybe something a little unsure too. 

He doesn’t really want to think about it.

“Do you want another coffee? Or.. wait did you not get a coffee when you came in?” Thomas asks eventually, glancing around the table, counting the mugs that are scattered around the room. “Seriously? Never thought you’d be frightened of a little fall out.” Alex winces, because what happened with Eliza isn’t just a _fall out_ \- he’s half convinced he’s broken her heart the way things are going. He’s half convinced that Angelica will be coming for his blood before the month is over. He says as much, trying to cover the uneasiness and guilt that coats the roof of his mouth like tar with an easy-going bravado, but judging by the way that the other man rolls his eyes in a distinctly unimpressed manor, he doesn’t think he’s succeeded. 

“You give yourself _far_ too much credit.” Thomas drawls, amusement and genuine annoyance mixing like some toxic cocktail. “Whatever, I’m going to get another coffee. You can fucking stay parched and decaffeinated.” He stands, stretches and heads to the door. Before he leaves, Thomas turns and cocks his head, obviously debating whether or not he should say anything else. Alex hopes that he won’t. “You should talk to her. You’re acting like a child.” Which coming from Thomas is pretty damning seeing as he’s the least self-aware, most immature person Alex fucking knows.

He sighs, starts shuffling through the papers and files that Washington wants him to read and amend but he can’t stop thinking about Eliza. Eliza who is lovely and calm, who knows what she wants, who works hard and is patient. She wants change, yes, but she also wants calm, she wants peace, she wants things Alex has never known and doesn’t know how to give her. He thinks of her smile, her eyes, her delicate wrists and tries to imagine her in his arms, her head against his chest and the frustrating thing is, he can. It’s so easy to picture a future with her, but it’s not so easy to picture the idyllic future she’s spoken of before.

He should speak to her. He should speak to Angelica.

They’re his _friends_ and he doesn’t want to lose them.

He fucking hates that _Thomas-fucking-Jefferson_ is right.

Thomas is leaning against the counter, wrists dangling over the edge, getting in the way of Angelica’s work until she says something about pouring scalding milk on him if he doesn’t stop. They laugh, Eliza rolls her eyes, Alex’s gut clenches at the easy-going scene. He wants to turn back and hide, but Angelic notices him before he can make a move and she raises an eyebrow. It’s a challenge. One that he can’t back down from. Thomas follows her line of sight and doesn’t do much to hide the satisfied grin that stretches across his lips. Alex grinds his teeth but heads towards the counter anyways, feeling so much like a scared little kid on their first day of pre-school. 

“Erm.” And well, he wants to fucking _die_. The ground could open up beneath him and just swallow him whole and Alex would complain. He’d actually be really fucking grateful right now. Apparently, the gods are not feeling particularly merciful right now, because the ground remains as solid and use as Alex doesn’t feel underneath his feet. 

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Thomas mutters under his breath. Alex shoots him a glare at the same time Angelica slaps his wrist. The man yanks his hand away in outrage, over-dramatic and so very _Thomas_. “What the fuck did I do?” He squarks, clutching his hand to his chest in a very good impression of one of the actresses that star in the telenovelas that Alex watches when he’s feeling particularly homesick. “Honestly, the fucking _injustice_.” He keeps mumbling outrages, each one more and more ridiculous until Eliza swats at the air around him, cutting him off without having to say a word.

She fixes Alex with a long, slow stare, taking in his reddened cheeks and his fidgeting fingers, his downcast eyes. She lifts her gaze to the ceiling, wondering for a moment what the hell she ever did to deserve this kind of drama. “Alex, just grow up. And start ordering your own damn coffee instead of getting Herc to do it for you.” She says, exasperated and maybe a little (just a little though, because he’s still acted like a jerk and just because she can forgive doesn’t mean that she’s happy to forget) affectionate. 

And just like that, the tension that has snuck in through the cracks under the doors and in the chinks in the blinds dissipates. Alex breathes easy, a small smile, soft and still slightly uncertain at the edges nudging his lips upwards. Angelica nods at him, and touches her sister’s shoulder, squeezing once, twice before she’s tucking her hair behind her ears and moving towards the coffee machine.

Thomas turns back to Eliza, talking at length about nothing in particular and Alex joins them, though he doesn’t say anything.

For once, maybe he’s sort of happy being content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - I'm so sorry for the massive delay between chapters! Without going into too much detail, life and school and stress in general really made it difficult to write? Honestly, in the months since the last chapter I've rewritten this about 10 times and I'm still not 100% happy but hopefully it's okay. To make it up to you though, the next two chapters are already written so they've for sure be up within the next two weeks! As always, comments and con-crit are much loved and I hope you enjoy this!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic for the fandom (and on Ao3!) my friend and I were talking and the premise basically was in a modern day setting, would Jefferson still be the absolute arsehole that he was, or could he learn? In all honesty, it doesn't matter if he could learn or not, he didn't when he was alive but I thought I'd run with the question anyways, especially considering this is written with the Hamilton cast in mind. Comments and crit would be lovely, and thanks for reading!


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